When The Show Ends
by LaRancePlz
Summary: Set after the movie's ending. Marlon contemplates his stupidity and takes a chance. Dennis/Marlon. Ang Sayaw ng Dalawang Kaliwang Paa. The Dance of Two Left Feet. As much as I would have loved to write in Tagalog, I suck at it. So it's not as makata as it could have been. My title is creative, okay? XD


**A/N: Doing this because of my fangirl feels.**

**"Ang Sayaw..." is a 2011 independent film in the Philippines directed by Alvin Yapan. I own nothing. Please forgive me for playing with yer babies.**

* * *

**"Ang Sayaw ng Dalawang Kaliwang Paa"**

_**"The Dance Of Two Left Feet"**_

* * *

Marlon tugs the zip of his bag close; the dressing room silent but for the odd sounds of cleaning up here and there. He had not spoken a word directly to Dennis since the other's sudden departure at his callous attempt to _pay _that time in the studio.

Unknowingly belittling their encounters by audaciously placing a price upon the time they had spent with each other; as if to say any formed connection was business at heart and mentor-like at best - that what they had was something so trivial it needed a monetary value.

Gods, he'd been so stupid, hadn't he?

His lips set into a deep frown, raising one hand to rub tiredly at his face.

But it was over. The performance was over. There was no longer any reason he was obliged to dance opposite the shorter man ever again. No excuse of tutorials or practices. No crushes on literature teachers who were passionate about their art with such intensity it engulfed. No more plays depicting priestesses taking form of a man to save the man she loves - No reasons, explanations, and excuses. Nothing. He had nothing left to offer.

Moving to take his bag and leave, he raised his head and stopped. From the mirror carefully tucked into the wall, he could see Dennis fixing his things; his shoulders tense, his movement jerky, his dark head bowed. At the top of his nape, his hair curled - wet from either sweat or the water he used to rinse off the body paint, maybe both.

The performance was over and there was no other reason to ever interact with Dennis again - except that he really, really wants to. He wants to listen to the same tune the other man hears; to allow his limbs to flow in the pattern the other man sets; to create a world that much bigger than the two of them but intimate all the same that it appears too small. He wants to dance, read, laugh, talk, joke, be confused and find out - to connect with another person on such a deeply humbling level the experience becomes otherworldly. _Indescribable_ in a way that he's no longer _Marlon_ and he's no longer _Dennis_ and everything just falls into _Marlon and Dennis_, Marlon_and_Dennis, _marlon_dennismarlon_dennis_ —

Until there would be no need to separate either from the thought of the other.

He flushes at the sudden selfish whim… Only it was anything but sudden, really.

It was present in every gaze they shared, every harmonized step, in every pause and small smile. It was alive in each touch; each routine, where their bodies just melted in each other's arms; where both were simultaneously leading and being led and it somehow worked.

Marlon unconsciously sucked in a sharp breath when Dennis finally stopped. He scoffed and shook his head to clear his mind, feeling more than a little foolish at the way his heart threatened to beat frantically right through his chest.

Dennis turned and their eyes met through their reflections. Marlon was wrong. His heart wasn't going to beat through his chest. It was going to climb up his throat and choke him to death - He wondered if Dennis would miss him. He hoped he would. Ms. Karen would probably give them both quite harsh disapproving glares for the mess his bloody corpse would make.

He saw Dennis' lips move and he blinked in confusion. Oh. His heart was climbing up too loudly for him to hear anything else than the blood thrumming in his ears.

Great. Dennis would probably sooner cause him inner hemorrhage than give him time to construct a sentence that would make sense and keep him listening.

Because Marlon very much wanted to explain…

"Marlon…?"

Marlon let go of the bottom lip he was unknowingly abusing. He opened his mouth to reply when Dennis gave a strained grin and cut him off; stepping closer to clap an impersonal hand on his shoulder.

"Well that was certainly a good performance. Ms. Karen would be pleased, no doubt. Although I think I was a little bit –"

It was painful, he decided, watching Dennis try to leap across the gap Marlon had created in their friendship. His voice was awfully cheery, expressions quite staged, even the hand on his shoulder felt like it was pushing him further away. The shorter dancer felt so distant – he was treating Marlon like a… Like a colleague of sorts. Which he was, but it was more than that – surely, they were more than that.

"Really though, I think it was a very good performance. Defini –"

"You were great."

Dennis stuttered to a stop, flustered. He was caught so unawares by the comment that he finally met Marlon's eyes. Pleased that he wasn't the only one feeling uncomfortable, he let his stance loosen; knowing that if they both were acknowledging this formed tension between them then it could still be fixed.

He felt the hand on his shoulder twitch but before Dennis could lift it away, he raised his own hand and cradled the strong wrist, keeping it in place. He stepped forward until their bodies weren't touching but they were inside each other's personal space; gaze not lifting from Dennis' own wide-eyed stare.

_"You were really, really great."_

Somehow, it seemed only appropriate to whisper.


End file.
